Imaginary Man
by jencenD
Summary: Inspired by a quote seen on Tumblr: "Was you life ruined by an imaginary man too?" Contains some OCs and possible Nellis.
1. 1: Dead Center

"Heeey! Come back, we're still here! Come baaaaack!.. agrh, they ain't coming back."

He shook his head. Everything was turned upside down, and he couldn't build up a reasoning chain in his mind, but at least he tried. Yes, heard about the Infection. Yes, got whole thirty floors of stairs while going here. Yes, it amounted to nothing in the end.

The hardest thing was to cope with reality. If you die, no one comes after you and cries over your dead body. His mother must've got into some accident already, even though he hoped she didn't at the end, everything is alright for someone, and he believed it would be him.

They were standing on some hotel's rooftops; he totally forgot the name of it. The tallest and largest of them, a man wearing some coach uniform, was shouting in despair, using his hands as a horn. The other two - an African-American woman in a fan T-shirt and some pale girl wearing a jeans suit - were standing aside, trying to catch their breath. He himself was a mechanic, twenty-three years old, who had never left Savannah is his whole life and was now facing probably the greatest commotion of his. Even more, humanity's greatest one.

"Alright, to hell with that heli. Does anyone know where else evacs are being held?"

The girl stroked her blond hair and sighed.

"Even if we do, then what? Down there, it's raining undead. We won't make it even to the hotel exit." The dark-skinned woman frowned.

"Sweetie, what are you talking about? We got up here, which means we'll get back as well."

"We got here with a fire ladder. Which had been barricaded right after we took it. There's no choice, we have to pick the hotel." Falling silent for a minute, she glanced at the others. "You get it now? We're right in Death's claws."

The man in a coach T-shirt crossed his hands and smirked.

"Well, I lived long enough, and dying right now ain't exactly my goal. Not 'til I get to the evac. What do you say, boy?"

It has been addressed to a guy with light hair wearing a cap and coveralls, knotted on the waist. He flinched, sending his thoughts away.

"What do I say? Erm... lookin' on them papers, there was some evac center in th' mall. That one where you can take a pic with Jimmy Gibbs Jr.'s car. If we get out, I say we head there."

The others, excluding the blondie, bucked up; the other woman even applauded at this.

"That's better", the coach laughed. "Moreover, I don't think we're that defenseless to die against those bastards. Look over there." He pointed towards a wooden table near the vents; three fire axes and a couple of Glock pistols lied there, covering some red and white bags. The guy in coveralls approached this treasure table the first and weighed an axe on his hands.

"I always wanted to be an axe murderer", he muttered, making the blond girl even paler than she was. She, however, took another axe, explaining it by her lack of shooting skills. The coach took two pistols, and the last axe went to the dark-skinned woman. Grabbing all the weapons, they finally found out what the bags happened to be.

"First aid kits! Who could've left them here?" the mechanic boy wondered. The woman in a Depeche Mode shirt shrugged.

"Maybe those who were evacuated. They wouldn't need all these anyway."

* * *

Everything was going worse than he thought. Sure, Infection and stuff, but he didn't have in mind that they would face not a couple of zombies, but a pure _flood_. Almost all the time someone's axe dissected rotting flesh, and the pistol bullets cut through someone's heads and limbs. They've already met some strange fat Infected which looked like a ball and was constantly gurgling. No one wanted to find out the reason of gurgling, and this thing has been executed with pistols.

Of course, the elevator wouldn't be on their floor, and they had to go for a walk, only finding undead on their way. That was so ghoulish - murdering those who, in fact, were still human, but so far this remained the only way to help them. For good. The kid thought about it sometimes, as the blood from someone's neck splattered all across their axes or someone ran at him, gaping their mouth and screeching violently. Although he didn't contemplate that for long, slashing their inhuman bodies, the tiny pieces of their minds, with his weapon. He just hadn't got time.

Finally, they were lucky to find a working elevator; stepping in and picking the first floor, they could take a break for a little. The female part of their group suffered the most, especially the blond one, who looked so pale and thin she could resemble death sometimes.

"Phew, that was hell of a run! My boys didn't run as fast as we did now", the coach laughed in a deep voice of his. "Let's meet each other, shall we?"

"Name's Rochelle, but you can call me Ro. I got used to it", the African-American woman shrugged. The other one sighed at this.

"Hazel. You can't call me Ha."

"Oh, an' me... Ma' name's Ellis. People call me El, 'cause Ellis sounds like a girl. Yeeah, to make a difference. But you guys call me whatever ya want."

"Okay then. And I'm... hell, call me Coach. I got used too."

* * *

"Well done, apocalypse, well done", Rochelle mumbled to herself on the way. At first, a horrible mass of people met them at the safehouse - a room with steel doors and some useful stuff like medkits and weapons. Good thing they've found pump shotguns and SMGs inside, increasing the survival chances. Then they've run down into a weapon store; Ellis was nearly excited to see it, seeing his low ammo supplies and, moreover, the auto shotgun was far better than a pump one. On their way to the store, though, lots of adventures had been waiting for them. First, a long-necked creature who spat strange green fluid at them; Hazel even got her boots smoking after that. Then someone's car alarm went off, alerting so much undead that almost all of their ammo had been spent to keep them out. Rochelle had the worst luck of them all; her gun jammed just as a horde attacked her, and the others couldn't react in time. Her hands were all scratched after that, and the left palm had a horrible bite which worried the survivors for damn long time. But they've spent at least two hours on their way to weapon store, and nothing happened to Ro; the bite only hurt badly, even though it's been taken care of. It gave them a glimmer of hope that some people could have immunity to the Flu, not bad after all.

In the store, however, they'd been rewarded well. Ellis had been here before and was not able to hold his delight seeing _all the guns_ this time as well. Saving time, he got himself an auto shotgun, and then started to fill his pockets with shells - someone providently left ammunition supplies on the showcases. Hazel didn't react with much delight - with her inability of shooting she could not take anything. On the way, Rochelle tried to teach her how to shoot a SMG, and the girl even learned a bit, though heavy rifles like AK looked a lot more powerful, sending shivers down Hazel's back even displayed on the showcases. She found a great ammo supply although, and everything fixed up for her again; even more, the axe did not leave her in any time. There also was a speaker button; Coach hit it, and a voice followed after some static. The store's owner, speaking over it, suggested them to clear the path to the mall (which was barricaded by some fuel truck) in exchange for coke bottles from a food store down the street. No one liked this idea much, but getting through was an urgent need. Searching the terrain for Infected, Ellis fixed his hat, took out a bottle with some nasty green substance inside and headed to the store.

* * *

"...hear me? Get up, now!"

He tried to understand what's happening. Everything went blurry, just like if he'd been hit with a frying pan. His face burned with scratches; someone who tore his face apart certainly ran mad after it. Also someone has grabbed him and shook hard to wake him up.

"W-what happened?"

"Some shit jumped on you and rode away from us. I barely found you. Come on, get up." The voice sounded male, unfamiliar, not like Coach's bass at all. As Ellis' vision slowly came back, he could finally look at his savior the normal way. White spots of a suit looming in front of him, and a shirt possibly adding blue to them; an angry long face, short dark hair, scratches somewhere. And grey eyes that were glaring at Ellis, as if he produced some unknown spell, obviously a lousy one. It took him an effort to mutter:

"You... who are ya?"

At first his face stunned in astonishment, and then the man in a suit laughed acidly.

"You lost your mind, huh? Or that thing borrowed your brain for a while, so that you won't remember me?"

"But I... really don't." The guy had lost himself completely. He actually knew no one similar neither before the Infection hit, nor after. The other man took an AK rifle off his shoulder and removed the safety. Somewhere nearby, the bushes moved, and a hysterical giggle announced another presence - El remembered similar sounds as he entered the food store, before something sharp dug into his cheeks and he passed out. A shriveled, whooping and constantly jumping thing rushed out of the bushes, heading towards them. The mechanic searched the ground in a panic, hoping his shotgun wouldn't be far away; the stranger raised his rifle and let out a short burst. However, it happened to be faster and jumped on him the next second; both of them yelled dreadfully, rolling on the ground, the human trying to get it off, and the creature clawing at his face. Ellis threw himself in the air and ran to them, grabbing the rifle which man in a suit dropped. He couldn't find out who was who in a ravel of two bodies, so he just shoved the one atop; to his luck, it was a zombie. It squeaked, ready to jump again, but the boy hit it again and shot at least ten bullets fight in its face. The creature fell to the ground motionless and silent at last. The other survivor, staggering and touching his wounded cheekbones, got up on his feet.

"If only you'd confused this shit for me..." he grumbled.

"Yeah, all but thanks!" El shrugged childly. "So what, will ya tell me yer name fo' saving yer ass?"

The other one smirked grimly and whipped his rifle out of the hick's hands.

"Nicolas. Don't ask this ever again."

* * *

Ellis! Ellis!

And thus everything disappeared: the dead Infected in a ripped shirt, the white suit, the rifle chatter; it was all replaced by terrible silence, so terrible it banged his ears with itself. Until he heard his name again.

Ellis, wake up!

Wait, no. His mistake - this shouting deafened him even more. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to focus on at least one object. The closest one to him was a print with some guy who looked like Gordon Freeman and two words under it.

Depeche Mode.

"Sweet Jesus! We were worrying so much about you! What happened?" Rochelle looked confused and upset at the same time. Shaking his head, Ellis sat up on the metal floor - _when the hell did he get to a metal floor_ \- and looked around. A half-opened steel door caught his gaze; in the other part of their small room there was a table with medkits and ammunition, and Hazel sat nearby, reloading her gun. Coach was nowhere to be seen, but gunshots bursts howled outside; he seemed to be somewhere behind the opened door. And Rochelle sat right in front of him, holding a first aid kit. Ellis shook his head again, just like a Chinese figurine, and touched his forehead - a few layers were bandaging it.

"I wish I knew", he mumbled. Suddenly an obvious thing struck his mind. "Ro, where's Nicolas?"

Both women in the saferoom looked at him surprised. Hazel laughed nervously.

"Nicolas? Is that Coach's name?"

"Nah, Hazel! He's some... erm, well-dress'd guy. White suit." The dark-skinned one sighed.

"I don't know who you're talking about. Hadn't seen any Nicolas guy, moreover in a white suit. Maybe you were hallucinating? You've been out for about an hour on our way here."

Ellis turned away. So it was normal that he didn't know Nicolas and was surprised to see him! Where did he come from, nevertheless?

His thoughts were interrupted by Coach's gruff voice; its owner stepped inside the safehouse with his shotgun over the shoulder.

"Oh hey, El! Mornin'." When the boy frowned, he laughed shortly and gave him a hand. "Get up, we gotta go."

Grabbing the palm in a mitt, Ellis remembered something else, important as well.

"What 'bout evacs? Ain't we in the mall now?"

"Yeah, boy. But so far I've seen, it's all overrun. We gotta leave on our own."

* * *

"What did you say about driving, El? Hurry up, or you will take the passenger seat!"

The high voice of the blond girl cut through first floor's area. The mechanic guy carried a gas can found somewhere near the barricades - in case of hordes, perhaps. Shit, he'd never think he'd be fuelling a stock car of the greatest racing star and then even driving it! Himself, while saving their asses from a shitload of zombies! That seemed just incredible.

Just a few meters before the car, the final frontier... And something pinkish and sticky wrapped around Ellis' shoulders, squeezed them with abnormal strength and pulled back. He could only let out a short "augh!" before the tongue - _sweet heavens that was a tongue_ \- constricted his neck, making him suffocate. The thing pulling the tongue was damn strong, and for a few seconds he blacked out.

"...hey, Ellis! I'll be driving if you don't hurry!"

He flinched. This voice, so mocking and sarcastic.

"Nicolas!" he shouted in despair and felt the tongue loosen; even more, a large piece of it fell from the upper floors to his feet. Someone slapped his cheeks easily - recollecting himself, El saw Coach frowning. They both darted off to the car then; Ellis got the honor of pouring in the last can.

He couldn't quite remember what followed. There were driving adrenaline, Hazel's grumbling about speed limit, a giant bridge on their way... And somewhere deep in his mind, grumbling of one more man who only sounded familiar to him.


	2. 2: Swamp Fever

Everything seemed so wrong. He did not understand what he was thinking with while escaping to Savannah. What was he thinking while ending up in a God's forsaken place, even more, during the most horrible epidemic in America? Finally, he did not understand the people surrounding him; three other survivors who he couldn't stand. Steven, the oldest one, was adequate enough, thanks God. But nothing could compare with Frank and Alice. These two were like a pair of children coming home from school, and nothing would ever darken their mood. He attempted to do so, by the way, but all he got were some bitter answers from them. Why the hell was he, once quite nice at gambling, dragging his feet along with this parody of a surviving group?

"Hey Nick! Smile, will ya? Finding an evac station's just a matter of time, and we're still alive. Ain't it great?"

He received a push in his hip and winced, but answered nothing. Damn you, Frank.

"The fact we're still alive is good, but it's about time we get into someone who doesn't want to eat us", Steven noticed thoughtfully, a tall lank professor in his fifties. Nick called him a professor from the first meeting - he looked far too educational in his green sweater and tweed trousers. Frank shrugged and went forward, bouncing as he did.

"He's a real child. What a miracle he can handle a gun so good", the old man mumbled. Nick agreed with him though didn't show that. Forming any relationship was the last thing he wanted.

The day was slowly fading away. Two youngest members of their group were still behaving like two children in the middle of fair; his sanity was still drowning, and the train wheels staccato was getting closer with every step.

* * *

When Steven dragged them into the train literally by scruff and it then started moving, Nick was boiling inside with enjoyment, seeing Alice and Frank freaking out. The girl was surprisingly smarter than her friend, and the conman even admired her a bit for coping with this devil. But as the train clanged, began trembling like a prodigious creature and then stopped dead, they all understood that their journey was over. Getting out of the train car, Nick noticed unhappily that the Infection did its filthy job here as well: giant letters covered the houses, saying "LEAVE", "ALL DEAD", "NO HOPE" and so on. He also found out that there was not just a derailment that made them stop, the train crashed into another one. So, walking through the town was inevitable.

"Okay then, let's do it!" Frank exclaimed, shaking his dark-violet hair and raising the shotgun.

* * *

Perhaps this was not just the best, but the worst beginning at all. Not counting on elementary rules of survival, the guy with dyed hair was running around, whooping and wasting ammo supplies everywhere he could. Alice did the same thing overall; his and the professor's task was covering these madmen. Sometimes the horde approached them so fast and close that blood splattered across his white suit; then Nick closed his eyes and slashed the remaining of humans without even watching. This is all a dream, just a dream. Everything passes, so this will pass too someday.

However, nothing passed. The situation got worse when they found out they were in the middle of a swampland; it was not just the zombies that looked worse, but the soil under their feet. The clothes were able to hold against a rain, but not _this_. Nick didn't even talk much, busy dodging someone's torn legs, fingers and organs on the wooden pathways. Only watching his feet, he didn't also bother to listen to other people talking. This time he noticed that thing in the critical moment; something rushed towards him, roaring fiercely. A terrified scream of Alice followed, and Nick felt the creature charging through him, setting him flying with it, falling down in the swamps and crashing his head against something really hard - could be a tree. After that, the darkness fell.

* * *

Was the dream over?

"Hey, sleepyhead, get up. If ya keep lyin' down here, ya gonna trash yer suit."

He couldn't recognize this voice. A strange, unknown accent banged his ears; he must've flinched because the voice added:

"Ya still in pain?" He finally opened his eyes. No, if this was a dream, it didn't end. He was still there, in the middle of swamp, only lying in some half-trashed cabin. Well, not directly in the swamp, that's already good. It was hard to see anything in the dark, but Nick still made an attempt. Coveralls knotted on waist, a cap, curly hair... what is this word, Bullshifters?

"Woah, ya took a real beatin'. Got yer head hit hard", the man in front of him chuckled. Nick groaned and tried to get up but felt his head spinning and fell onto the other man, making him hustle.

"Oh crap! Why don't ya say it still hurts? I got some more aid, could've patched ya..."

The man in a suit turned to him face to face and grabbed his shoulders.

"Who the hell are you?! Where's Steven, where are those two sweethearts? What and I doing here?" The boy waved his hands; in the moonlight Nick could see his eyes. He didn't see their color but noticed the way he looked, astonished and confused; perhaps shouting wasn't the best thing to do. He coughed, put his hands away and said:

"Okay, good. Tell me who I am."

"Nick. Well, ya told us yer name's Nicolas, but only Steven calls ya this way..."

"Great, shut up."

The hick boy looked quite offended, jerking his cap angrily.

"Yeah, yer welcome." Nick made a deep sigh.

"What is your name?"

"It's Ellis, but ma' friends call me El 'cause Ellis sounds girlish, and ma' buddy once said..."

"Alright, alright! Ellis... thanks for helping me." The second part was said after a pause. Hearing this, the hick smiled.

"That's better. Hey, I haven't finished the story!"

Nick glanced at him, frowning. Had they found another Frank guy?

"Jesus, Ellis, I hate you."

"Though I still like ya."

* * *

Ellis... Ellis? Where did this name come from?

Somewhere back in his mind a lantern came alive. Ellis? Isn't this that redhead fucking chick that makes him wanna die the whole way? No, wait, that's Alice.

He opened his eyes unwillingly and moved some of his fingers. This was unbelievably hard to do, just like if they've been put in a stone, and he needed to break it. Thick darkness covered everything; he could see only one thing clear as a bell. Right in front of him.

Damn red hair.

"Nick, you called me in your sleep. You alright?" the voice whispered. He wanted to sigh angrily, but suddenly dull pain went through his chest, making him moan and his teeth grip.

"Alice? Why can't I breathe?"

"We found a safehouse, and I'm the one on a night watch. It's almost morning. So, how you doing?"

"Like shit. Told you, can't breathe, hurts like hell."

"Oh, that's because of that Charger", she chuckled, not seeing the sullen expression on his face. "We call them this way 'cause they attack charging and send everything flying. You as well. It smashed you into some tree, and we were frightened you'd die after that. I must say you're tough; you've been pretty good till you started mumbling something and stirring your legs and guys had to carry you then." It seemed that "guys" were meant to be Steven and Frank; Nick frowned even thinking about the latter saving his ass in any way.

"Alright, fuck it. Is it time to get up?"

Alice shrugged, stroking her red locks with her thin fingers; it didn't combine with her thick figure at all.

"You need to have some rest, really."

"I can rest when I'm dead."

* * *

Nick couldn't remember exactly how much time had been spent wandering around the swamps, wooden cabins and giant bushes; the only one interesting thing happened to be a crashed airplane right in the middle of swamplands. At the end, they've managed to find some dry place, where there was a giant detached house with windows nailed up and wooden floors that couldn't stand human weight. Frank even got into one of these traps, falling down on the next floor, and Nick smirked to himself. Anyway, the most incredible thing was that someone still tried to contact them on the radio, and now they were holding out while waiting for a boat, and this was their final target. Everyone worked hard, and if these four ever felt themselves as a team, this was the exact moment.

Even as the ferry arrived and the gates came down, Nick couldn't believe they were saved. They went through too much shit while looking for human beings, all scratched, hungry, exhausted not only in the physical but in the moral way as well - because of bites and immunity struggle - and now someone is out there, willing to help!

"Good Lord... What the living hell is this?!"

Steven's yell jerked him out of contemplating and made him run. Intelligent-looking, this thin man screamed really seldom, and most of the times sheer terror was the reason. Only after reaching the dock, Nick made himself turn around and look at this terror. And then he got really sorry about it, because a huge rock flew past his head.

"It's a Tank! A fucking Tank!" the dyed guy screamed, and Nick would've made him eat a sleeve of his not-so-white suit if he hadn't seen the creature himself. His forced-to-be friends shouted their throats out to make him hurry; and he ran, oh man, he ran. All of sudden, a foreign, different voice ringed in his ears.

"Holy shit, it's a Tank! Run! wai'-wait, don't run, don't run- SHOOT!"

The sound of this voice remained in his head even after the boat moved off with four survivors on board. Nick sat still, holding his head; Alice and others watched him, worried.

"Something wrong, Nicolas?" the oldest of them asked. He looked at them and told in a steady voice:

"Have you seen a guy wearing coveralls and a cap, looking like a mechanic? And having a terrible accent as well. His name was Ellis." The girl frowned.

"Is that a new way to poke me?"

"No, Frank damn it. I'm serious."

They've exchanged glances, confusing, and shook their heads almost together. Nick turned away silent, watching the sun beams sparkling at the water surface. So much left to do, they had no idea.


	3. 3: Dark Carnival

The situation changed radically. It seemed just a moment ago that three other survivors waved hands at them, and there goes a traffic jam for at least a kilometer forward. Ellis and others left the car with hesitation; the guy even caressed it with his hand before going on. There were so much left cars in front of them, it made them shudder with thoughts about how much people met their death here. Thanks God, they still had guns, though less ammo in reserve. The most important finding was a billboard telling about an amusement park nearby. Coach even told cheerfully that he visited it as a kid, and Hazel noticed grimly that they can die here as adults. Ellis had a feeling that these words sounded foreign, just like someone else should've said that.

Some hotel by the roadside welcomed them with emptiness and a bunch of zombies. In abandoned rooms the survivors found themselves a lot of analgesic pills, everyone got a small bottle. The only accident was meeting some strange creature in a hoodie. When it screeched infernally, landed onto the roof, crashing it under its weight, it fell into the room which Rochelle was in, scaring the hit out of her. Though she didn't let go of her weapon and killed the leaper with her axe at once. Hazel shivered, glancing at the dead zombie and hoping no one will ever turn into this sort of thing.

* * *

"Heeey guys, Kiddieland!" Ellis whooped suddenly, drawing an arc with his hands. The others chuckled quietly; he was still a child inside. How old was he, twenty-three? Is this even 'old'?

However, his delight faded dashingly as the ground began trembling under his feet. Coach made a 'hush' gesture, listening; growling and rumbling could also be heard, just if an earthquake was starting, but then a monstrous thing showed up from behind a merry-go-round. It resembled Hulk a lot, only it wasn't green and lacked the lower jaw.

The survivors parted at once, hoping the creature will follow someone else but not them. It approached them incredibly fast, and by unfortunate chance the first one in front of it happened to be the blond girl. Rochelle and Ellis watched horrified as the giant fist set Hazel flying, literally imprinting her into the opposite wall. It wasn't the end, and the zombie would hit her one more time, if Rochelle didn't start shooting. It seemed to get the monster's attention, as it turned around and moved towards her; the others rushed to help the wounded one. She had a great hematoma on her head and could barely walk by herself; they needed to escape the creature or kill it for good. The last thing was being done well by the other woman who ran circles around the beast and only stopped shooting to reload her rifle. She noticed angrily that her ammo supplies are almost zero, but Coach and Ellis soon joined her with their shotguns, and even Hazel tried to help, firing her SMG.

Suddenly the living pile of meat darted to the side, heading to the mechanic. But when he carefully looked out of his cover, he saw someone dressed in white who glimpsed outside like a ghost, and the creature followed that someone at once. He heard a horrible scream of pain, and a thought raced through his mind: _dead_. Anyway, the Tank - that's how the guy called this hell - crashed its fists against the white figure, literally breaking it down. As it fell on the ground, Ellis' heart sank along with it. He double-checked his shotgun, turning away for barely a few seconds; but as he looked back at the Tank, it no longer could be seen. Instead of some booth, near which it crashed upon the man dressed in white, its body lay motionless in the opposite direction. Rochelle, who stood near it, kicked it with her boot heartedly. El rubbed his eyes, understanding nothing. Ignoring his teammates, he darted off to the booth where the stranger should've fallen but found nothing at all - no blood, no traces on the ground.

"Ellis, sweetie, are you alright?" Rochelle asked, approaching him; the others joined them a minute later. He sighed deeply and shrugged. Something strange was happening to his mind.

* * *

"Rollercoasters! Who wouldn't want to have a ride?"

That was the catchphrase for entering it. Some time ago, saying, a month, the mechanic guy would say 'no one'. Nowadays it was clear that no one of them will want to get on the rollercoaster _ever_ again, even if they _do_ get out of here alive. The alarm rang continuously, and the undead horde was getting large every second - it would seem that they weren't alerted but produced by the annoying sounds. The survivors followed the tracks after a train which already went far ahead, understanding that they'll need to stop soon; the Infected were literally everywhere around. Then Coach ordered them to switch to the melee weapons, and the task became slightly easier. Slowly they were making their way towards the alarm switches which would allow them to turn it off, at least they thought so.

Only a few minutes later Ellis noticed the absence of one of them. In a corner of his eye he saw Hazel, hanging on some rope and twisting desperately. His gaze quickly moved up to see the rope's owner - an Infected with a green cloud around it. He yelled and took the shotgun, but it was too far for it to reach the Smoker, and he had to slash a lot of bodies before he could finally get closer. But as he did, he froze, staring at the girl.

She was still there, only not resisting anymore. The tongue wrapped around her neck, and her face whitened fast. Hazel was dead.

"Ellis!"

He heard Rochelle screaming something but didn't move.

"I-it's Hazel... she's..."

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry, Ellis, I really am, but we need to save ourselves." She grabbed his elbow, but the boy withdrew it quickly.

"We ain't leavin' 'er there! Not after all we've been through! Will she just be hun' like this?"

"Ellis", Coach's voice came, barely audible behind his shotgun's clanging, "think 'bout it! Would Hazel want us to drag her dead body along or to get the hell outta here? She had a deadman's luck, though it sounds terrible. But now we need to get our asses outta here until some more shit comes in our way!"

Just after this, a deafening howl rolled over the coaster, and undead rushed at them from literally everywhere. Seeing all this, Coach grabbed Ellis and dragged him towards the saferoom they found; Rochelle glanced at the lifeless body, whispered something and ran after them. The young man tried to escape desperately, stretching his hands out, but the red door already closed behind them, and his comrades barricaded it with the furniture inside the safehouse.

No way back.

* * *

Ellis couldn't quite recall everything. He remembered crying for at least an hour in the safehouse, and Rochelle who tried to comfort him; she even asked him about the man in a white suit. Strange enough, after the Tank's attack El hadn't seen him anymore and already began thinking he'd gone. Hazel's death overlapped everything else even though he didn't know her much; he forgot about his bitten leg, about Nicolas and anything that followed. That wasn't the first death he saw, but the fact they've lost a _teammate_ turned him upside down.

Then he's been following the other survivors thoughtless, shooting zombies and seeing nothing around him. He knew Rochelle and Coach were upset about losing one of them as well, but he just couldn't understand how they put up with it so easily. They've crossed the other part of the amusement park, reached the local stage entrance on which a Midnight Riders concert had been hold once. Coach came up with an idea to give the helicopter a signal with fireworks; the mechanic remembered all right how great it looked on the concerts. After a short, but incredibly intense run through the tourniquets the three could finally fall down on the concrete floor and have at least a bit of rest.

Ellis opened his eyes lazily, greeted by dim flashlight beam placed against the door. He was surprised at first - no one brought light sources into the safehouse - and then noticed another change. At the same door a man was placed, leaning on the opposite wall and cursing quietly. Even in the nightly shadows the dark stains on his light suit stood out.

"Nicolas!" the guy almost shouted; he was actually alive, holy shit! The other man turned his head and glanced at him; El told himself that his expression only changed because of pain, and the sarcastic smile didn't go anywhere.

"Weren't expecting me, kids?" he ranted, slowly turning to the other side. The boy saw now that his clothes were covered in blood, and not only the suit, but the shirt as well. Without a single word, he ran to take his medkit, noticing on his way that they were the only men in the safehouse.

"Where's Ro an' Coach?"

"Hell if I know. The door was opened; I've only just stopped by."

"Nicolas... mind if we talk 'bout somethin'?"

The man in a blue shirt stirred. His jacket has been removed and put under his head as a pillow, and he was lying on some old blanket, all taped with bandages, grumpy but still alive.

"Only if it's not about Keith." The young man looked surprised; he _was_ telling stories about his buddy's adventures, but this survivor was not amongst them during that.

"How do ya know?"

"I'll remember this to death. What did you want?"

"Oh, erm... Well, ya know, I don't understand somethin'. Just don't interrupt me, 'kay? First time I saw ya at the mall after a Jockey attacked me. But then, when I was in a safehouse, you weren't anywhere to be seen. No one talked 'bout ya. Then ya appeared when a Tank came by, and it smashed ya into the fuckin' ground! Then ya disappear'd, and now ya came here, trash'd as hell and I dunno where from. I begin to think you're... well... _not_ real. Only in my head, 'cause maybe I hit it damn good or ate somethin'. And no one sees ya 'cause ya... ya kinda don't _exist_.

He fell silent, staring at the floor and having no courage to look up. When he finally did, it made him recoil: the other man's face literally boiled with fury.

"You. Are telling me. That I. Am your fantasy?" he spoke, separating words and hardly holding his anger. "Could you make up something else to cheer me up?"

"But I ain't making it up! That's the truth, no one else..."

"Shut up, Ellis. I don't believe a single word you say."

"A'right, okay!" the guy waved his hands, feeling his face heating up. "If ya don't trust me, ask anyone else when they come by, but they won't answer 'cause ya ain't real, you just ain't!"

"I told you to _shut up_!" Getting up abruptly, the survivor seized his chest and winced at the pain; Ellis jumped to catch him, and the other man grabbed him by the T-shirt. "Fuck this. I'll get to the evac myself."

"But Ro and Coach..."

"You told me yourself that no one sees me. Who's gonna miss me, you?" Cutting the answer, he grabbed his jacket and left the safehouse, unsteady. El watched him leaving for a solid minute, as if he couldn't believe his eyes; then he threw himself at the door but didn't see anyone there. Anyone at all. Even the zombies didn't pay attention to him, wandering around.

* * *

"Who-ho, I love this song!"

"Gotta reach for the top, stay on the mountain! Na-na-na, haa!"

"Boys, we've got to concentrate!"

Later, this was exactly the way the survivors were holding out and waiting for the helicopter to see them. A damn shitload of undead visited them, though, but why not sing your favorite song while your rifle is tearing them bastards apart?

"Look, the heli! They saw us! It worked, Coach!" the mechanic shouted, jumping and waving his hands. Rochelle joined him, giving the helicopter a signal; the man in a violet T-shirt was too enthusiastic about singing. When the heli finally landed and the three got on board, an infernal howl could be heard, just like some creature was awakening from its enchanted sleep. Though it couldn't do any damage to them now, just shaking its giant fists helpless; the chopper was already in the air, leaving the stage behind.

"Oh, what a pity it couldn't last longer. The pyrotechnics were the best", Coach chuckled. Ellis glanced at the speciation places for the last time; suddenly a familiar white silhouette caught his eye, standing near the lights panel. But then Rochelle called him, and he turned away.


	4. 4: Hard Rain

Jesus, where did all this blood come from?

For some reason, the pictures of last hours were floating through his head. The boat's owner stopping it and asking for gas; going through a sugar mill to get to the gas station... Meeting weird crying women inside. Nick was particularly lucky to push one of them as he fought off the zombies. Why has this bitch even got such long claws?

Following his deadman's luck, the AK slipped out of his hands, leaving the conman completely defenseless. He could only lie down, stretching his hands out as a cover and watching the howling woman tearing the remaining of his life apart. Was he just going to be its victim, at last?

 _No.  
_ _I have not come this far to die now!_

"Get off him!"

Someone's blurry silhouette approaches the witch and fires the whole clip in it. According to sound, his long lost AK. He tries to watch it closer, but the blood loss is so critical it makes his eyes close.

"Oh no, oh no, no-no-no, are you okay? Say somethin'! Please, I'll do anythin'!"

Where's that bawling coming from?

Or not bawling, but yelling. Someone's hands grabbed him by the collar and shook continuously, trying to wake him up. Hasn't he died yet?

"Jesus Christ, you're still alive! Hold on, you'll be okay... I promise you'll be okay!

Nick lifted his head, exhausted, and tried to look at himself. Fragments of blue and white fabric, green grass which he fell onto... and red. Lots of red, as if a paint bucket had been thrown over him.

And atop of this, the dead tiredness which landed onto him like a huge stone plate.

* * *

 _Clear!_

Enormous pain spasm struck through the whole body. Not because of Witch wounds; this outburst hit Nick directly in the heart, making his limbs shiver. He almost jumped after that; opening the eyes wide, he breathed in and out, as if he couldn't have enough. Retaining consciousness, the man looked around: some room with shelves all around, green cans, a pile of weapons on the floor... and three men surrounding him. Someone thin with a moustache and a green sweater sat in front of him, holding a defibrillator in his hands. The professor.

"Way better. We missed you", he said with a bitter smile. Nick looked at the other two, surprise still on his face.

"Yeah, at first we thought you were dead, and then we found out your heart stopped beating", Alice shrugged. "If it wasn't for me finding some chest paddles in the local hospital, you wouldn't be here."

He examined himself quickly. Lord, what a mess. Shirt all torn apart, whole chest bandaged, blood still flowing; hell, blood was everywhere, and mostly on his jacket. Judging by stains of scarlet on Steven's hands, Nick assumed him to be the doctor this time.

"I'm... grateful." The professor turned around and sneered quietly.

"It's all good."

* * *

Their comeback was a lot more complicated. A prodigious storm started, and even going on without shooting was quite an achievement. Even more, each one carried a gas can, dragging their feet in the turbid water. Their main enemies didn't seem to be very much bothered by rain and ran even faster, going from anywhere the survivors looked. Nick was holding on, though his condition was getting worse every moment. As they finally made it back to the previous safehouse, no one was in the mood to laugh. Each one of them had bites and scratches, and Frank was fortunate enough to step into Spitter's acid; his leg burned pretty good, and the right boot lacked its sole. Steven remained the healthiest one, encouraging the others to go forward, which did not quite help Nick. Several times he was ready to give up, fall face down in the water and stay there until the shit ends. The deep wounds that Witch left were not critical now, but he thought all the time that his body had been slashed with a scalpel, and the organs are about to fall out; that's what he meant by saying he's 'falling apart'. At the end, after patching up their small wounds and finding someone's old gumshoes for the guy with dyed hair, the survivors decided to wait for the storm to fade; there still was a small hope for this. Falling asleep, Nick could hear Alice and Frank talking about the rescue and the life after Infection. He couldn't predict anything himself; he just kept waiting for some undead creature to finish tearing his being apart.

* * *

He woke up unexpectedly. The storm was still fuming and fretting, and his teammates were still there; here's the chubby redhead sleeping under one blanket with the dark-haired one, and the man in university clothes sitting near the doors and watching the rain, sighing quietly. But something was not the same. Turning to the other side, Nick winced at the boy dressed in coveralls.

"Oi, why ain't ya sleepin'? Sleep's the best med'cine", he said, smiling. The survivor in torn white jacket frowned.

"Where did you come from again? You weren't there when we moved back from the sugar mill", he hissed.

"Why are ya whisperin'?"

"Because..." and then he fell silent. Really, no one saw this hick except for him, so why should he lower his voice? Nick also noted that Steven paid no attention to them both. "To make you ask."

"Yeah, sure. I don't understand why you're askin' this. I'm followin' ya guys the whole way, and you're talkin' like ya don't know me at all."

"The whole way? Bitch please."

"Oh come on! I've ever patched ya up when after that Witch! Don't ya remember?" This seemed to be too much because Nick exclaimed:

"Steven patched me, do you get it? Steven! And stop talking like you're a part of the collective, will you?"

"I _am_ a part of it! I'll... I'll prove ya that. Ste-even!" he used his hands as a horn, but the oldest of them didn't answer even after Ellis called him one more time. The conman shrugged, feeling victorious.

"So what, didn't I tell you this? Just accept it, you're a creature of my ill imagination, nothing else. Perhaps I was so bored I made up another survivor in my mind, and it turned out to be you, Ellis. Ellis who I wouldn't stand being near for even a day."

His opponent hemmed.

"Then why do ya keep imaginin'? Like, if I got it right, I'll be there as long as ya want. What for?"

Nick opened his mouth to answer, though that he had nothing to say. He just sat down, looking into these green eyes against his, and would spit out some other foolish thing if something didn't grab his shoulder, causing him to turn around.

"Nick, we have to go. Get up, please."

He stirred his hurt body, feeling all its parts aching in protest. It still rained, soaking the roofs, the cars, everything around - it really darkened their path later. The man looked around the room again. Ellis was nowhere to be found.

"By the way, Nick. Do you dream about me?" Alice asked; they've already left the saferoom and went further to the berth. "As I was waking you, I heard my name at least twice."

"That wasn't your name", he muttered.

"Whose was it then? Or is it about that mechanic guy again?"

"You don't need to know that." These words, of course, only heated up the girl's curiosity, but she decided to leave this theme for a while. When they'll be safe, they'll have a chance to talk.

* * *

"Finally, it's here! The boat's back, get aboard!" the professor yelled, giving a signal to his teammates. Nick and Frank had a tough time holding out and were especially happy about the rescue. It would seem that the sarcastic one with bandaged chest would care for himself the most, but actually Frank was the most selfish one amongst them, though he worked well in team during their journey. He was only twenty years old, full of ambitions, willing to become famous around the world. In the apocalypse, a new aim appeared - become the undead destroyer, and he followed it with all his strength. Now, after all they've been through, it was possible to save his ass and tell stories about his adventures... only if he'll make it to the boat.

Playing the role of the worst luck, a fat gurgling Infected approached him somewhere from the café and covered him with something that resembled vomit by color and smell. Frank grimaced, shaking his hands helplessly, and hit it with his crowbar, causing the Infected to blow up and cover him with blood and even more vomit. The guy yelped desperately as he saw all the undead that were now coming directly at him, attracted by vomit smell; his rifle fell somewhere to the floor, and Frank himself ended up under a huge mass of zombies, literally being torn to pieces.

Nick was luckier than his least favorite teammate. He was shooting from the roof, then jumped on the car nearby and made his way towards the ferry, wondering why the zombies didn't follow him. Only after approaching the berth he turned around to see what's happening.

"Nick, help him!" Alice cried wildly; she was almost ready to get off the ferry herself, but Steven held her wrist tight, not letting her sacrifice herself. The conman watched, shivering, as a horde approached the place where Frank was only minutes ago; he saw its rampage, its bare will to get a piece of the unfortunate survivor.

This was the end.

And Nick didn't hear anyone. He turned around automatically and ran, not looking back anymore. He saw the helpless emotion on the redhead's face turn into fury and disappointment; he saw the man in a sweater looking somewhere through him. He couldn't recall well how he got on board, but he remembered those words the girl threw at him:

"What if that was your Ellis guy? You'd go, surely you would!"

He didn't know. Things all mixed up in his mind: Alice's shouting, zombies' shrieks and the coveralls hick's bitter words. Nick touched the wounds on his chest, warm feeling under his fingers; he could still see the hate in girl's gaze as he fell down on the deck, writhing.


	5. 5: Cold Stream

Why were they always so damn lucky?

This question had two points of view. Optimistic one - they were lucky to live through a helicopter crash. Pessimistic one - absolutely nowhere to go. They didn't know where the helicopter was heading to, they didn't know if they should've survived anymore, and so far they didn't know if they'll be able to give it a rest ever again. Cons overweighed pros. But as Ellis stated from they very beginning, "hey, we've been through a huge shithole and we're still alive! Maybe there's still a chance of gettin' out." Adding to the optimistic point of being lucky, the helicopter crashed near a small river, more even a stream, and it's a known thing that nature orienting gets easier with such objects; so they followed the stream's flow. Curiously enough, zombies have been there as well. In the watercourse of God's forsaken river, zombies! After escaping Midnight Riders stage these three hadn't cared about ammunition, and only melee weapons had to be used.

Ellis wasn't upset about it, but he didn't go ahead as usual closing the procession. Thoughts swarmed in his head here and there: about inability to rescue Hazel, about the nonexistent Nicolas who seemed to be offended just like someone real would be. The mechanic couldn't get it right how such a stable image ever happened to appear in his mind, being a very much genuine person, scoffing... and disappearing. When they've gone through an enormous horde to some saferoom and locked up to have at least an hour of rest, El fell sleeping almost at the same place. Perhaps the excitement was the clue, perhaps something else, but his dream was almost empty this time. Some recent pictures of his life were being repeated: Coach singing at the stage, Rochelle shouting about the inability to save the blond girl... a man dressed in white falling down under the Tank's huge fists. The guy shivered in his sleep; no, this never really happened! Hazel's death happened, and she was quite real before, but Nicolas was a child of his imagination that had gone too far to consider a fantasy to be real.

Wait. What if such man would really exist? There were some cases when people could see each other with thousands of miles between them, copying the other person's image entirely. Could that happen to him as well?

This thought even woke Ellis up. He sat up on the concrete floor and shook his head. No, this couldn't be. But Nicolas was furious; he vanished from his mind completely. Could a fantasy do this in any way? Though vanishing was arguable here - the thoughts about this fantasy never left the boy's head, nearly driving him crazy. Sometimes it was even making him fall out of the real world along with thought about imminent death, and some of his teammates jerked him back, telling to stay sharp. Then Ellis was promising himself once again that he'll think it over when they'll manage to find an evacuation center. And again, he has been breaking the promise every time.

Behind contemplations the youngest boy was missing the most part of their journey and just kept following those who was going forward; once he even went after a group of zombies and woke up from a stupor only after a few pair of hands stretched out for him. However, an incident happened on the way, quite serious one, showing how defenseless they could be.

It all started when Rochelle saw a creature as they've been crossing a blocked road somewhere near CEDA camps. Then the survivors noticed one more Infected; these two looked like dark lightnings, leaping from one side to another and shrieking wildly, just like some predator birds. Once this thing landed just in front of them but disappeared as soon as they grabbed their weapons. They've seen such things already - they even called them Hunters for the way they pounced their victim - and had to stay awake for them, as these attacks happened to cost too much for their health.

But as they were crossing the damn stream once more, the action began. The yelps could be heard from two sides already - the Hunters have been tailing the group for a long time. Suddenly a shadow moved in the tree, turned around and darted down on Coach, screaming even louder than him; the other creature pounced Rochelle at the same moment. Their bare hands were the only thing they've been left with, and they used this small advantage as they could. Ellis raised his rifle - he had left the shotgun for good long ago - but didn't have the time to even make a shot as a long sticky thing grabbed him by the leg. Somewhere behind him its source coughed; it pulled the tongue harshly, knocking down the guy on the ground. He cussed loudly, falling and reaching out for the axe on his back; he was lucky to pull it quick and cut the tongue. The Smoker screeched, gathering the remaining of its tentacle, but the survivor didn't give it another chance to attack, letting out a long burst with his M16. The Infected blew up with a huge green cloud, falling to the ground; Ellis would sigh with relief if he didn't hear the terrified yells.

"Get this off, get this shit off me!" Rochelle and Coach screamed simultaneously so loudly that it merged with the Hunters' squeals, who were tearing them just like Christmas gifts. The only one left on his feet, Ellis rushed towards them, pushing one of the pouncers, then another at once. Picking up Coach's shotgun, he shot them both right in their faces; that was fortunately enough. The youngster threw the other man's weapon on the ground and looked around the scene quietly with a sick sense in his stomach. Surviving in a group of three is far harder than four.

* * *

"El, why do you look so down?"

The mechanic shrugged. The situation wasn't great, to be honest; they've been following the stream for around three hours and had found, except for concrete blockades and sewers, nothing. He was the only one to have no scratches and wounds, with the only exception of being pulled by the Smoker's tongue; the others have used at least half of their medkits for dressing wounds. Now, sitting in quite a big safehouse which consisted of two rooms, he was thinking about how they were going to save themselves this time. The helicopters turned out to be unsafe, but there was no other way - the river's channel was too small to hold out even the lightest boat.

"Or is it about that Nicolas guy again?"

Nice question, Ro. 'That Nicolas guy' was not the thing Ellis worried about for the last hour, but as the danger swept away for a while, he got carried by the memories again. Just a few days ago, nothing bothered him so much, and now some cocky guy had gone through, pushing out even the mourning thoughts. What the hell was happening to him?

"I... I just can't get it, Ro. I've even seen things, as if he's back again. That just ain't normal!"

"Oh, come one, sweetie. Is some unreal person able to drive you mad just like that?"

El remembered these words of her for a long time without even a will to.

* * *

"And now we run, kids. Our last chance of getting out of this shithole. Clear? All right, haul ass!"

They hadn't run that fast since the mall alarm went off. Everywhere around, heaps of curious Infected clanged their teeth, though easily being pushed away and decapitated. This time Ellis went forward, being the healthiest one and looking out for the helicopter the military promised to send. He didn't think this particular idea was good, but this was the very last chance, and no one wanted to lose it.

"Charger on the left! Move aside!" Coach exclaimed, pointing forward; the undead with hypertrophic hand flew past them, charging into the opposite wall and flattening some unfortunate zombies on its way. Before it could attack again, the survivors darted off further; and finally a sound reached Ellis' ears, the only one he wanted to hear now.

"The propeller! It's the heli, it's gotta be here somewhere!" he yelled, encouraging his teammates. It wasn't much of their guts left, but on the final run towards the freedom, the normal life - shit, the food! - they were all doing their best. Getting up on the tower, Coach and Rochelle already took their places in the helicopter; it was only Ellis who hesitated, looking out for someone.

"Ellis, what are you doing? Get in, now!"

The mechanic shook his head. At first he peered to the tents down on the ground, still hoping for his imaginary friend to come back; only after that he noticed a painfully recognizable figure that approached them fast and trembled the ground with its massive fists.

"Holy shit, it's a Tank", he cried out. "Let's get outta here, quick!"

Exactly after this, an enormous rock flew right past the helicopter, landing somewhere in the tents. A howl full of fury and indignation rolled across the terrain. And Ellis would've been left alone with this Tank if Coach hadn't grabbed him and pulled into the helicopter, as it took off just after the beast yelled.

Sitting inside the machine, the survivors could barely believe their eyes. Were they safe? Was this nightmare finally over? Was everything they went through, losing one of them, not going to repeat once again?

"Hazel would be proud of us", El said quietly.

"Oh yes, she would. You guys are great zombie destroyers. A monument for each of you would still be not enough", Coach laughed. Rochelle applauded happily, and the youngest of them joined her. Suddenly a memory came through him.

"Whoa hey, I ever told ya 'bout the time my buddy Keith wanted to make a monument for himself? Ya know, marbel 'n stuff. And he had no money for it, so he..."

The helicopter noises muffled his voice, but the three didn't pay attention. They've survived. They were heading to the place where there will be normal food, showers and living humans who won't be vomiting blood.

Everything was going to be alright.


	6. 6: The Parish

He could hardly hold his body crouching. Red circles were floating in front of him, he started feeling metal taste of blood on his tongue, and the worst thing was the possibility of this being the very end with no one to save him. Until the darkness swallowed him, Nick could hear his friends in need arguing.

"Wait, Steven! Don't help him!"

"Why the hell? He's one of us and he's dying. Give my medkit back, now."

"Really? Wasn't Frank one of us? Are you _that_ blind not to see what happened to him?"

"Alice, there was no way to save him, trust me. But we can still save Nick, and I'm gonna do what I need to. Give me the medkit."

"Not on my life. I'm not going to participate in this."

"Look, this is _my_ medkit, and I will use it however I want! Give it back."

"You may think it's mine now."

"Alice... don't make me threaten you with a gun."

"You won't! All way long you've been only saving our ass. You won't _dare_ to kill me."

A faint 'click' could be heard, like a pistol safety taken off. Nick didn't remember anything else of this conversation.

* * *

"Nicolas, get up. We've arrived."

The latter yawned lazily, opening his eyes. Well, they really got somewhere. The ferry's owner told Steven something with his bright voice, but the man in a suit understood nothing; some giant bell was tolling in his head continuously and mixing words up. Alice went off the ferry as well; she was still upset, though the expression on her face turned into stone, and she was always looking away from Nick. Just as the ferry continued its way, two airplanes cut the silence of stagnated air above the town. The professor whistled in surprise.

"I wonder why they would need aviation forces."

"Why? Who else would clean up the mess?" the girl answered bitterly. Nick noticed to himself how much she changed after Frank's death. This Alice wouldn't run forward, whooping and slicing heads here and there. However, it increased their chances of surviving.

* * *

"Shit, the graveyard is the worst possible thing in the zombie apocalypse. After that car minefield, of course", the conman muttered, dragging his feet along the ground. The redhead hemmed in response; however, Nick's words about the cemetery turned out impossibly fatal. Just as he walked around the corner, he saw the murdering machine approaching them from the gates, running on its fists and already trampling some Infected underfoot.

"Taaank!" he yelled, turning around and getting away as fast as he could. Somewhere nearby he managed to find a sniper rifle, hoping to take the monster down with it. But the circumstances were all against them; Steven had been surrounded by zombies down at the wall, and, fighting them, he didn't notice the thing that was raising someone's headstone, torn out of the ground.

Nick watched it happening in the rifle scope. Everything was too fast: the Tank launched a marble plate straight into the undead mass, and all disappeared under it - zombies and Steven at once. Then he realized they needed to play the game in advance; grabbing Alice's hand and not listening to the girl's whining, he darted off to the gates. Her attempts to reason him were unsuccessful - the only thing he heard was his inner voice telling him to run for his life, and it hadn't betrayed him as they found some store with a red steel door and a house sign above. Nick didn't hear Alice now even more as she begged him to go back and get their dead teammate out from under the plate.

God, it was a huge absurd, all of this.

* * *

Oddly enough, he couldn't sleep well. His thoughts were filled with recent events: Frank being torn by a furious horde, Steven crashed by a marble headstone, a Witch's nails digging into his flesh... and for some reason, a hooded creature on Alice, pouncing her and attacking with its claws. He even told the girl to be careful, but she didn't listen to him anymore, although he never expected her to. Now Nick was lying in his corner in a small saferoom, holding his bandaged ribs and trying not to whimper as pain clawed into his chest. His consciousness slowly faded to black, until he felt someone covering him with a blanket. The conman almost flinched to this, noticing the merciful person.

"Ellis! What the burning hell are you doing here?" he hissed. The guy started back, dropping the blanket. Picking it up shortly after, he sat near Nick, facing the floor awkwardly.

"Erm... I've been thinkin' 'bout what ya told me. 'Bout me bein' not real, all the stuff. Ya know, even if I'm real only for you, I ain't feeling bad. If ya got someone to be only near ya, it's just great! I've been jealous for Keith's buddies as he went out with 'em but not me." He took the cap off the head and stroke his hair guilelessly. " Don't worry tho', we can always crawl through shit together."

Nick honestly didn't know what to answer, expecting anything from his dream - cussing, ignorance, denial - but not these words. He tried to stand up and reach out for Ellis, to touch him and confirm that he's still here, sitting and smiling, just like a small sun fragment. The mechanic boy caught him falling, and the other man shivered as the hands touched his bandaged chest; it wasn't even pain that made him shiver.

"Oi, sorry! Does it still hurt?"

"Ellis... tell me one thing."

"Yes?"

"You ain't going anywhere, are you?"

"Nick, get up. Come on, damn you", a foreign, angry voice interrupted. Someone shook the conman's shoulder hard, and he opened his eyes, seeing his redhead companion.

"Alice? Wait, what..."

"I won't go anywhere, Nick. Even if you're gonna wish it harder than now." He sighed helplessly. Shit, one thing he didn't hear the guy's answer, even more this girl is now distempered. And their comradeship was the most important thing to survive.

The friction between them almost helped the man in a suit's death when Alice watched him hanging on the Smoker's tongue, interested in how long he could hold on without choking. After that she surely killed the Infected, but Nick remembered this accident firmly, reminding himself constantly that he is all alone now with no one to cover him.

* * *

"Resque-7 to the bridge, how many of you are there?"

"Two, and we really need some safe place to go."

"Roger that. Ten minutes later a helicopter will be on the other side of the bridge. It'll stay there for a fifteen minutes no more, no less. It's your prime directive now to get to it. Lower the bridge when you're ready."

"Ha, you have it", Alice spit out and hit the control button. The enormous structure roared and began going down slowly, while the girl peered at Nick.

"So here we go, mister Charming. It ain't a secret that I don't like you, but my will to safe myself is far greater than my hatred of you. We'll have to be a team at least for these ten minutes. Got it?" she gave him a hand, waiting.

"It depends on you, cupcake", the other survivor sighed and then squeezed the hand, hesitating. Alice nodded slightly; the bridge came down at this moment, thundering.

The game was on.

Less than one mile. He can cover it easily, that's just some stupid bridge. Nothing difficult, nothing supernatural, Nick was telling himself. However, his condition was getting worse with every horde they met, his feet barely dragged him, the weapon was sliding from his hands, and there were a few occasions when he was almost falling from the bridge; it was only for Alice's strong grip that he still managed to stay alive. The wounds after Witch's attack began to bleed again after sharp movements like jumping, and red circles clouded his vision. The worst thing, however, was the constant phobia of meeting a Charger; remembering their last encounter, Nick was seriously frightened to be pushed off the bridge by one of these creatures.

Shooting off the undead, he didn't see his comrade disappear. Though after looking up he saw the girl running on the upper part of the bridge; when the hell did she even get there? It was not the first time he cursed himself for meeting that Witch and being unable to fight with full power because of it. A short yelp interrupted him, and he saw a shadow fly right past them. The last dream of his came into mind.

 _Shit, he needs to warn Alice._

Nick darted forward, slicing the zombies with his crowbar almost automatically. As he reached the next part of the bridge, the creature was already on its upper part, ready to attack the redhead who stood really close to the ledge. He didn't manage to say a single word; the Hunter leaped towards Alice, making her step off. Nick watched her in horror, falling to death, and a hooded Infected following her down; a scene of it pouncing the girl in the air and slicing her throat cut into the survivor's mind.

This was enough. An enormous will to run, to be somewhere else, far far away from here, has been born in his very being, and he ran. He ran away from the zombies, from the Tank that was roaring somewhere ahead, from the fucking hell that was happening around. He didn't stop for a split second, shooting everything at sight; he even ran around the Tank somehow, even though the beast still noticed him and started the pursuit. Nick didn't hear that. Here's the landing pad; jumping off the bridge's ending, he ran towards the rescue vehicle, stepping on board, not watching the way it took off, the way the pilot shook his head seeing him to be the only survived one. There was although one single thing he noticed on the bridge - a familiar silhouette moving fast on top of a huge truck. A cap, coveralls... Nick would never mistake this person for anyone else in his life. He wanted to ask the pilot to wait just a bit more, but a thunderous sound cut him saying, and at the next second he watched the remaining of the bridge drowning in the waters, silent.

He turned away from the porthole slowly, as if not believing his eyes. Was it over? He was sitting in a rescue chopper which was not going to fall down into a river, swamplands or something nastier. He's going to get into a relatively safe place with normal ration and normal treatment - his old bandages were already soaking with blood. He's gonna be with _humans_ , damn it. Not all of them were much different from the brainless killing machined he used to destroy on his way, but at least a small part of people still remained human, not being insanely weird.

All of sudden, he felt a giant bucket of hate thrown right over him, getting into his very being and hurting him a lot. He remembered everyone at once, everyone who didn't make it with him, meeting their death on the way. He hated Frank, this idiot musician with dyed hair, for his constant dumb smirk and noisy nature; he hated Steven, this damn professor guy, for his habit of fixing shirt collars and mother hen instincts; he hated Alice for her burning red hair, arrogant speech manner and inability to forgive; he even hated Ellis, his own creation, for all those Keith stories and never-ending questions. But the one worst reason for hating them was that they didn't make it, they all died and left a devastating hole right in the middle of his chest, they've torn a huge piece out of him and threw it into the void from that damn bridge, and no surgery could've ever fixed that. Even more, this Ellis who promised to crawl through shit with him but didn't have time to promise getting out as well. Nick didn't notice the salty taste on his lips till this moment; he wiped the tears harshly with his shirt sleeve and sobbed.

It's always someone particular in the world who was going to be okay, but that someone will never happen to be you.

* * *

 _a/n: there's a small reference to 'Hatred', another l4d fic, in the last passages._


	7. 7: Finale

Their flight to the military holdout took just a couple of hours. During the journey, Ellis already could already miss shooting, even more that their guns have been confiscated on arrival. The clothes were also the required to be cleaned and analyzed; Coach was especially upset for depriving his shotgun, just as Ellis worried about his cap, but the procedures remained necessary for everyone. As the basic rules stated, the survivors passed the Green Flu test which required checking their blood for virus - they've heard about Carriers before, - and got the orange prison suits as a replacement for their torn and bloodstained clothes. The last one to pass the test was Rochelle, as the one questioned by a female doctor especially long; when she told her friends she wasn't infected as well, nothing could contain their joy. Getting through all the shit and not catching the Flu was hell of a luck.

Waiting for their friends, Ellis observed the wall posters, melancholic. It was similar to reading those leaflets about children diseases, though there were no happy animals inside. Amongst the Infected list on the posters a lot of his 'friends' took place: a tongue-twisting thing, a sorrowful woman dressed in underclothing, even that pile of roaring meat they used to call a Tank. It was additionally circled and signed with multiple notes, just like back in the saferooms. The only one he never saw was some female Infected with elongated neck and strange green fluid dripping from its mouth. Local artists were too desperate while drawing this creature, giving it an exaggeratedly horrid appearance and a 'Spitter' nickname. El shivered, recalling a man who was in the helicopter with them; his trousers and shirt sleeves had been trashed at least for a half, and dreadful burns covered the opened parts of his body, as if caused by acid.

Half an hour later the three have been let to visit the dining room, where there were at least a dozen of people dressed the same way. The surviving base turned out to be a former prison, and the only clothes it didn't lack was orange jumpsuits. Someone grumbled about all this reminding an imprisonment, the others didn't like the quality of vegetables served for dinner. Although overall the life seemed to be quite peaceful here, discounting the well-armed soldiers, walking through the narrow corridors and peering at everything. Moreover, a personal cell with a couple of blankets during a zombie apocalypse could please any adult just as a Christmas gift for a child. Ellis, by the way, was alone in his cell, as the only left chambers were two-seater. He contemplated the room in silence, bearing a strange feeling that someone else needed to be here as well.

* * *

The last chopper arrived an hour and half later. Its pilot jumped out of the bird and helped Nick, whose condition bothered him even more. Another man was supporting him, someone in his forties who they've picked up later with his daughter - a lassie who kept flapping her eyelashes in a dumb way. The whole flight for Nick consisted of watching this powdered marble-like face, as he couldn't turn to the other side without making himself bleed. As they finally arrived, he's been sent to the medical unit at once; giving he blood analyze and his clothes as well, he got fresh bandages and a promise to sew the wounds up next day. The man only nodded at every question he heard; filling the documents didn't make it past name and birth date and it was decided to delay all this till the operation.

* * *

He watched his portion of boiled potatoes for at least twenty minutes, and then swallowed it without changing his face much. Everything around became so - how do they put it? - indifferent, even the orange clothes didn't bother him though reminding the days of his criminal past. Returning the empty plates, he shuffled unhappily to the living quarters, hoping he won't meet someone like his ex-wife here.

Everyone must've been in the dining room; he actually saw only a few men in the doorway leading to cells. Two dark-skinned survivors were chatting quietly ahead, catching his attention. As the gambler approached them, the heavy man nodded in awareness, patted his companion by shoulder and headed somewhere. The woman looked at the stranger quite interested.

"Well, hello there, mister Charming", she chuckled, making Nick shiver with the memory of Alice calling him this way. Though this new lady attracted him for some reason; no, that reason wasn't the breast size. "Been long here?"

"Two hours... maybe. Where are you from?"

"Savannah. We were going in a group of four, and then a friend of ours died... yeah, that was lousy. My name's Rochelle by the way. Friends call me Ro." The other survivor looked at her, wistful. Perhaps in a different situation he'd answer the proper way, but it was not the best time of his. Certainly not.

"Nicolas", he said dryly. Something glimpsed in the woman's face.

"Wait, how's it? Nicolas?"

"Use Nick if you want", he added sharply. No one called him by the full name except for good old Steven, and Steven was clearly not something he wanted to remember. Rochelle watched him, suspicious.

"Tell me you ain't lying. About the name, I mean."

"You need my documents or what?" Nick snarled, shoving his hands in the jumpsuit pockets. He did not like this one bit.

"No, it's just... There are no such coincidences. Come, you need to meet someone."

* * *

The mechanic guy, though lacking his favorite coveralls, strolled through the hangars and watched the pilots working. It became boring for him pretty soon, and he headed back to the living blocks with some chopper pilot. They talked about everything on the way: cars, hardworking, zombies, the small amount of survivors around the States. Seeing the way Ellis' face changed, Liland - that was the pilot's name - hurried to switch the theme.

"Luck is a general problem, you know. I got sent to some bridge today; it was about to be blown, and then some survivors contacted the military from its other side. Two of them, they said, and only one made it to my chopper. All torn into pieces, tired like shit, barely walking, and then he even passed out. Good thing I found someone else or I doubt he'd even live long enough to see the base."

"What, he was that bad?"

"Well, you know, whole chest taped, blood leaking through. Took a real beating, I'd say; dunno how's he even alive. Hope he survives at last, 'cause you know... he looked so down back then. Bad luck."

After hearing about serious wounds something shifted in Ellis' mind.

"Hey, d'ya remember what he looked like?"

"Erm... Quite dandy, I'd say. White suit - well, it certainly was white a while ago, - bluish shirt. And that face... how do I say it, hmm. Some dignity, I dunno. Like, I've crawled through shit, but I'm still alive, suck on it. Strange thing. What, you know him maybe?"

The boy shook his head. It suited his guess quite well, he just needed a confirmation.

* * *

About twenty minutes they've reached the cells. Liland talked about the same different things, like how they're gonna repopulate the Earth after all this, but El did not listen to him, thinking about absolutely distant matters. Turning into the narrow corridor on the right, he passed by the empty chambers. 201, 202, 203. Here's 204 where his friends' names are written; Ellis didn't realize at first that he looked at Coach's name who they used to call by his profession. 205, 206, 207, 208, all signed with some foreign names. A soldier stood near chamber 209, writing something patiently on the name table. Ellis' name was already in, but now there was another one under; he could barely believe his eyes after glancing at it. He didn't even bother to remember the last name. Liland stopped behind him and looked at the table.

"Oh, that's your room, Ellis. Whoa, you should be happy having a neighbor... "Ni-co-las". Who's that?"

"I dunno", the mechanic lied, flushing red. The soldier finished writing and gazed at them.

"He'd just been sent here. Wanders around like a ghost, phew."

Some cheerful talking approached them from the other end of corridor, and two more got in the way: an African-American young lady and her companion, sorely pale and resembling a ghost indeed. Ellis stared at him dead, literally unable to breath or say anything; that was the first time for him to experience speechless condition at its best. The dark-haired man in front of him felt the same way, though he was still tough enough not to disclose it. Rochelle applauded with joy and stated delightfully:

"Hey, Hee-Haw! I got a surprise for you. Remember that man you've been talking about all the time? This guy has even got the same name!"

El didn't hear this. His attention was all captivated by the known and yet unknown person who left him so perfidiously a few days ago and got back all of sudden. A simple sentence said by Ro emerged in his head. "Is some unreal person able to drive you mad just like that?" It sent the gears of his mind shifting, creating a conclusion, as he carefully approached that other man who looked all but imaginary for everyone else. That was the matter - he no longer was an imaginary one, coming to life at last; and ain't no one telling the boy about how real people can't make him go crazy about something.

Nick only understood a tiny little part of the surrounding events. He could hear Rochelle introducing him to some Ellis, and there is his Ellis, his imaginative creature no one ever saw before; he lives, he contacts the real world, and even more, he is stunned in the same way. Now this boy with curly hair stands in front of him, almost unrecognizable without his hat, and he doesn't know how to react because he still can't decide whether this all is real. Should he go all amazed about how did he manage to survive the bridge explosion? Or ask him to finish the sentence, that one he lost when Alice woke him? Maybe... maybe just wait to see what happens next?

He couldn't even guess the mechanic's inner discordance that, honestly, consisted of the same thoughts. One constant thing stood clearly for whatever happens - his Nicolas, the distinctive article of his imagination, will never fade away again. When just a couple of meters remained between these two survivors, Ellis darted off from his place and squeezed him in a long-awaited, desperate embrace.

"Don't ya dare to run off ever again. You hear me? I won't stand it if ya leave in the middle of a night and Jesus knows where and why. You may freak out 'bout my stories, my accent, damn it, my... whatever ya want! Just don't disappear, Nicolas, please." He muffled the last words into his friend's chest, leaving wet stains on the orange fabric. Nick simply stood, barely retaining the ability to stand. He couldn't remember the last time someone touched him and was not a zombie or a medical officer. The other guy's hands held him so tough he actually worried about his wounds, feeling the ground spin under his feet, but he wasn't frightened of falling. At least there was someone to catch him.

He could begin an interrogation about the bridge, the weird emergences, but then he just rejected all this; it would sound so petty in sight of one incredible thing happened - their meeting. Neither of them paid attention to all those surrounding them and watching with incomprehension or disapproval; these people saw them, they both were _real_. As long as this little option existed, no one would ever encroach their right to go mad about each other. No matter what.

"Shh, it's all right, Ellis", the former conman muttered, stroking his curls light-mindedly. "Call me Nick. Just... just Nick."

* * *

 _a/n_

 _I finished reading 'Goodnight Punpun' just before editing this chapter. Needless to say I wanted to crop it at once and change the ending._  
 _I know they deserve a happy one, but something inside me changed. I am not happy._

 _This whole fic was actually written more than half a year ago but got stuck in the translation folder. It was only yesterday that I found it and finished the translation. God, I lost the skill._


End file.
